At All Material Time
by 221b-bagend-street-badwolf
Summary: When John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes, the dark-haired stranger had told him he'd never make the mistake of falling in love. Set in 1930's Southern America, the mysterious Holmes family move into the deserted house opposite John Watson's farm. Intrigued with the strange newcomers, the young farmer lets his priorities slip, not without consequence. AU oneshot, Johnlock hints.


_**So here is my gift to all my tumblr followers because I've reached over 1,000 and I can't quite understand it! All I can say is Thank You all for finding me so interesting, and that I truly have no idea why you do! =) **_

_**But Thank You all the same, and I hope you enjoy this gift. **_

_**This AU oneshot is set in Southern America (around the time of To Kill A Mockingbird as this is where my inspiration came from). I apologise greatly should anything offend anybody, I can assure you that was not my intention at all. Please let me know if anything is incorrect, I like to be notified of my mistakes so I can improve! I guess you could say this oneshot is hinting at johnlock, (quite heavily), so if that's not your thing, don't read. But I use the term 'heavily' lightly, excuse the irony. =**_

_**It is written in the form of 'scenes' whereas different scenes are seperated by a line. These scenes do not appear in chronological order, just to avoid confusion. (Or possibly create it.) But I trust I'm dealing with Sherlockians here and we're a clever lot, so hopefully it's not too hard to follow. **_

_**I hope you enjoy it!**_

_**Many thanks, **_

_**sparrowismyhummingbird (221b-bagend-street-badwolf) **_

* * *

When John Watson first met Sherlock Holmes, the dark-haired stranger had told him he'd never make the mistake of falling in love.

"It's a distraction, ain't worth it. S'only ever gonna end in pain." He'd added, leaning against the peeling whitewashed barn, chewing on a toohtpick and letting the sun warm his face.

John was braced against the barn door, panting heavily from running after Annie-Rose.

Annie-Rose had run. Just like his Mama had warned him she would. She'd run from him, straight out of the shiny white gates to _Bakersdale Farm _and away down the sandy road. John could close his eyes and still see how her egg-yolk-yellow dress had flapped behind her as she ran, the hem sagging sadly and heavy with mud.

John'd bought her that dress.

It was the same summer they'd kissed for the first time. He'd made a promise to Annie-Rose under that apple tree, and she to him.

She'd broken that promise now.

But if you asked Annie-Rose with the sunny yellow hair and egg-yolk-yellow dress, she'd tell you the truth. She'd tell you what she'd kept secret from the very moment it had happened. She'd tell you that she'd broken her promise long before she'd fled outta those shiny white gates. She'd be able to tell you the exact moment she'd broken that promise. The exact day.

Conveniently a month after the new neighbours had arrived.

* * *

"Johnny!" Mrs Suzie Watson called out from the open kitchen window, to her son who was busy chucking chicken feed.

John looked over and saw his mother at the window, her mousy-brown hair in wisps across her face, her cheeks rosy. She was wearing her red polka-dot dress, John noticed, and was busy stirring buttermilk in a bowl.

"Johnny! Come take a look! I'm a Grammie!" she beckoned him inside and John shoved the small sack of chicken feed haphazardly into his jeans pocket.

"Looky! Look!" Suzie said as John stepped inside the rustic kitchen and began wiping his feet on the foot-rug. "Ain't no less that thirteen in total." John crouched down beside the basket and the sad-eyed collie looked up at him with pride.

"My girl..." John scratched her behind her ear. "Well done, Missy. You did good." He smiled at her before looking over at the thirteen tiny collie-pups that snuggled beside her.

"I was thinking," Suzie turned and resumed her buttermilk beating, "we could keep two - maybe three, n' sell the rest to Jimmy in the village."

John shot up.

"Jimmy? There ain't no way I'm lettin' Jimmy have 'em!" John protested. "He'll see it as new business! He'll be milking 'em outta her for the rest of her life!" He regretted taking this tone with his mother but his admiration for Maisie was just too strong. He calmed a little then. "I can't let him do that, Mama."

She rolled her eyes with a huff. "For goodness' sakes, Johnny! I only pray you have the same admiration for that girl of yours than you do for old Maisie here. I've told you before and I'll tell you again, son." Suzie cracked two eggs into her bowl. "Annie-Rose is a mighty fine young lady. 'N' you're a lucky boy, to be sure. But if you don't treat her right, with the respect and devotion any man should treat a lady, she'll be gone before you can whistle Old Pepper from his shed." She stopped beating and locked eyes with her son. "The girls around here are quick mind-changers. Do something wrong and she'll run from you. She'll run, Johnny."

"Hey, who's gone and bought that old place down the road?" Harriet Watson chose that moment to hop-step into the kitchen and dip her finger in her Mother's mixing bowl. She licked it clean as she emptied her overalls pockets with her other hand, producing freshly picked potatoes, complete with dry mud.

"Harriet! Not on the worktop, honey." Suzie tutted. "And what's this about The Linnard House? Somebody ain't gone and bought it have they?" She almost dropped her bowl in shock.

"Seems so.' Harriet shrugged and began washing the potatoes in the sink. "I just seen 'em moving a loada stuff in as I walked by."

"Well, how's about that? Must have a fearless soul among 'em." Suzie shook her head.

John frowned. Nobody'd set foot in that place since Miss Rachel Linnard'd gone and hanged herself there last April. The place had been deserted ever since. No one'd dared to go there once rumours started going about that her restless soul still roamed it. Rumours said that she still hung from the rafters, sobbing herself to sleep every night, and if you dared enter you'd be engulfed in a suffocated darkness that's crush you like a bug underfoot. Rumours were easily spread in Bakersdale County. That's 'cause most of the population were either children or nutty folk who muttered on their porches. Muttering and children were the perfect ingredients for rumour-spreading.

People said Miss Linnard had gotten herself in trouble with Bertie. Bertie Grubbtree was the local lady's sleaze in Bakersdale. He got all the ladies and any who tried to cross him were often found to have become mad with guilt by the time he was finished begging.

"Mad enough to kill 'emselves." Is what Harry had said to John once, "I ain't ever going near him."

Apparently, Miss Linnard had been so mad with guilt that she'd run straight to Linnard House (which was then 'Hartswood Place' and at the time home to her Aunt Josie) and hanged herself from the rafters with a necklace of rope.

Her Aunt Josie had moved out by June.

And no one'd set foot in that place ever since. Not even the daring children on Halloween. It was widely avoided.

Until now.

"What'd they look like, Harry?" John asked his sister as she wiped her wet hands on her overalls.

"Wealthy. Had their own car 'n' everythin'. I only saw one of 'em, a man. He wore a tweed waist-coat and a pocket-ticker. Mighty fanciful surname they got too. Saw it painted on the back o' their bumper. 'Holmes.' With a silent 'l'. Lord know's what they're doin' in Bakersdale." She laughed but John's frown remained.

"I'm gonna go meet 'em." He stated before striding out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Annie-Rose!"

"Annie, darling!"

"Annie-Rosie!"

She was used to this by now. Hoots and hollers from the townsfolk even though they all knew she was with John and had been for a good 9 months now. She was at the market picking up cornflour for Mrs Watson. Despite John's best efforts, their corn crops had withered this season, meaning cornflour had to be bought rather than made.

Annie-Rose felt for John. When his Papa died just last year, John'd taken it upon himself to make sure the farm was still as strong as before.

"I ain't just gonna let it turn to rack and ruin." He'd told her. Those were the days before they'd started courting. Annie-Rose admired John's determination, and he admired her kind heart.

"I'll do all I can to help you, Johnny." She'd told him with a smile. They started courting not long after she'd started working for him as a milkmaid. Though milk a cow she did rarely, sweeping up after the chickens and helping Suzie bake prize-winners for the County Fair was what she did most.

"Annie-Rose Watson." A voice spoke from round the corner to where she was buying the cornflour from a market stall. "S'got a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Bertie Grubbtree stepped out from the corner, his voice matching his greasy overalls. His red hair was slicked back and his amused smirk remained even as his eyes roamed Annie-Rose's cotton-candy-pink dress. Her farm apron hung from around her neck and was tied loosely at her back.

"He proposed yet then? Mighty fine surname that'll give ya."

Upon seeing him, she quickly tucked the cornflour packet in her front apron pocket and wiped her hands on her skirt subconsciously.

"Come now, don't do that. Such a pretty dress don't want spoiling now does it?" He walked closer towards her. The market seller, Mrs Hudson, a sweet old lady but easily startled, squeaked in shock at the sight of the infamous sleaze and scurried inside the building behind her. A tiny part of Annie-Rose wished she'd stayed watching them.

"You can talk to me, you know. Don't worry, now. You won't wanna run off and hang yourself just for talking to me, you know. S'ok Annie-Rose Watson." Bertie approached even closer. "Annie-Rose. Such a pretty little name." He circled her and she remained rigid, her quivering chin high. She'd heard stories of Bertie Grubbtree. Horrible stories that had to do with The Linnard House. "I'd sure hate for it to get dirtied, wouldn't you?" Bertie sniggered as he pulled on one of her apron strings, smirking as he watched the garment fall to her front, hanging only by her neck.

"Leave me alone, Bertie." She spat.

"Oh! She talks! And the little lady thinks she's tough, now!" He almost laughed, having fully rounded her and come to a stop right in front. "You know, just because you sweep up a bit o' chicken crap don't make you stronger than me, Annie-Rose." His chapped lips stretched into a grin that matched his greasy, red hair.

Before Annie-Rose had time to think of a response, Bertie gripped her round her tiny little waist and pulled her flush against him. The strong smell of tobacco ash and burnt hay filled her nostrils and she grimaced.

"Let go o' me, Bertie!" She tried to wriggle against him, challenging him with her blue eyes.

"Annie-Rose! Watch out for Bertie, darling! He ain't as good as Johnny Watson!" A woman shouted as she walked past them. Annie grit her teeth.

"Let go!" She demanded again but Bertie's wicked grin remained and he gripped her tighter.

"Hush now, Annie-Rose Watson. We don't wanna be making such a fuss out here on the street. Why don't we go inside? I know you hate to attract too much attention to yourself." He whispered gruffly. "I think Annie-Rose Grubbtree sounds so much better, don't you?" His breath was hot on her cheek and she wriggled harder. "What do you say to that, sweetheart?"

"Bertie. Let me go! I will not ask again. I'll scream!" She threatened.

Bertie's face dropped. "That's a real cryin' shame, darlin'. 'Cause if you scream, I'll have to use this." To Annie-Rose's horrifying shock, he lifted a kitchen knife in the hand that wasn't gripping her like a vice. "And I so love your pretty little face. I'd _really_ hate to spoil it."

"So would I, actually." A voice spoke from behind them both. It was rich and unfamiliarly British.

Bertie turned to look and growled in anger at what he saw. A man, wearing a waist-coat and a pocket-watch stood beside the cornflour market stall. He had a long brown coat on too, despite the warm weather, and was tall and odd-looking to Annie-Rose.

"And why's that?" Bertie growled through gritted teeth, baring his knife to the stranger.

"Because A) It is, of course, a lovely face. And B) I would have to take you in for assault and extreme violence." The man continued.

"Who're you then, a copper?" Bertie rose an eyebrow.

"Oh no, Mister Grubbtree. I'm much more than that. Let go of Miss Atwood, please." The strange man had his hands in his pockets and was rocking on his heels.

Bertie paused for a moment, as if contemplating the stranger's honesty, before begrudgingly letting Annie-Rose go and stepping back.

"Thank you. Now hand me the knife and you're free to scurry off."

Bertie paused again, before dropping the knife and disappearing back around the corner he'd come from.

"You okay, Miss?" The stranger asked once he'd bent down and picked up the knife, frowning at it intently before pocketing it.

"Yes, Sir. I owe you my thanks." She nodded her head at him and brushed her skirts down with a huff.

The man nodded before turning to the market stall seller and handing the knife over. "See to it that this gets reported to the police, or whoever you have around here."

Annie-Rose frowned. "So you're not a copper?"

The man turned to her, his eyes were warm but his whole expression cold and distant. If it weren't for the good deed he'd done her just now, Annie-Rose would've avoided him like the plague.

"No, Miss. I'm a man in politics. Not crime."

"Do you mind me asking you of your name, Sir?" Annie-Rose asked politely, she could tell from his attire that he was used to politeness.

_Ain't gonna find that in Bakersdale. _She thought to herself.

"Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes." He extended a hand for her to shake.

"My, that's a long name. And nothin' like the folk's round here. Are you new?" She asked.

"Not as long as yours, Annie-Rose Atwood. And yes, I am. My family and I moved here just this morning. I was just out getting some food supplies for the week." He explained.

Annie was shocked.

"How do you know my name, Mr Holmes?"

"I know most people's names in this town. I researched it before we arrived. You've got some strange people living here, that's for sure." He shook his head.

"Gosh. That's a lot of research. We do have some nutty folk here in Bakersdale County!" She exclaimed with a light laugh. "It was nice meeting you, Mr Holmes. I'm quite over the shock now, thank you." She smiled warmly at the man before teetering off back in the direction of Bakersdale Farm with her cornflour.

* * *

"London? But that's in England, ain't it? Why're they travelling so far just to live in some rickety ol' house that ain't got nothin' to do with 'em?" Harry exclaimed, a tight frown on her forehead. She wiped her hands from oil on her overalls and bent down again to continue banging the underbelly of the tractor with her wrench and hammer.

John stood leant against the inside of the tractor barn, arms folded, one leg propped over the other at the ankles. "Yeah, they sure have come a long way just to do some ghost huntin'." He mused, absentmindedly picking at his shirt sleeve. Old Pepper had coughed on him again, he was gettin' old after all, and his shirt sleeve was now covered in dried horse-mucus. John didn't mind it though, Old Pepper had been his friend since he was a boy.

"So you've met 'em all now then?" Harry spoke from beneath the tractor.

"No, I've only met the Mother, Father and eldest son. Apparently there're two of 'em." John picked up a discarded bucket from the corner and frowned when he found it only contained cobwebs. "I ain't seen him though."

"Yeah, the youngest son don't go out much. Mrs Holmes was sayin' he likes to stay in his room and mix stuff." Harry continued.

"Mix stuff? Like what?" John frowned deeper. He imagined a young boy mixing chicken feed and cabbage leaves in a bowl.

"I dunno. She just said 'stuff'." Harry shrugged and banged one last time against the underside of the tractor before sitting up with a curse. "Dang it!" She produced a bent wrench from beneath the machine and wiped her forehead. "I ain't doin' this no more for today. I give up." She stood up and dropped the tools at her feet.

"Johnny!" John turned his head to see Annie-Rose running up to him. She wore a cotton-candy-pink dress, and in her hair was a ribbon to match. John chuckled at the farming apron she still wore aruond her neck, as well as the bag of cornflour she clutched against herself as she ran, and smiled warmly at the sight of her. He outstretched his arms and she ran into them, embracing him tightly. After a few seconds, she pulled back and looked at him, her ocean-blue eyes welling up slightly.

"Hey, hey. What's the matter?" John, concern laced through his voice, cupped her face in both hands and looked her in the eye. "Talk to me, Annie."

"It's nothin'." She laughed once behind her tears, as if thinking herself foolish. "I just missed you so much."

John smiled again and pulled her closer, kissing her sweetly. "I missed you too."

"Yuck. I guess that's my cue to leave." Harry made a noise behind them and clattered her way out of the tractor barn.

"Nah, your cue to leave was when you saw Annie running at me, Harry!" John shouted after her and Annie-Rose giggled.

"Hey, guess what." Annie-Rose smield at John and bit her lip.

"What?" John asked, a small smile of amusement playing at his lips.

"I ain't gotta work anymore today. Your Momma told me I could have the rest off." She gripped John's shirt collar in both hands and giggled again.

"Is that so?" John laughed at her childish playfullness. "So what do you wanna do then?"

Annie frowned in thought. "I was thinking we could go for a walk by the lake. I'll go give this cornflour to your Momma and then I'll help make us some lunch and we can take it with us, how's about that?"

John smiled, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against Annie-Rose's button one. "That sounds great."

* * *

"Sherlock! I'm sick and tired of this, young man! You will come downstairs and be sociable!" John's eyebrows shot up in shock as he walked past Linnard House. Mrs Holmes was stood outside, shouting up at one of the windows. Her hands were on her hips and her frown told John she was most displeased.

"Sherlock Holmes you will come out this instant!" She screeched in her British accent. Her hair was dark but had wisps of grey streaked through it. Her whole appearance was neat and kept, but her voice was hoarse and John could tell she shouted at her sons often. "We've been here a whole month already and you still have not met half of the people living around you! It's time to wake up, Sherlock! Start acting like the man I would have liked to have raised you to be!"

Just as John was about to turn away and continue back to his farm, the upstairs window opened and he found himself craning his neck to see the strange youngest Holmes son. He had become somewhat of a hidden legacy, only ever spoken about and never seen. A part of John felt he was looking just for proof that the boy did indeed exist.

And he did. And John was mistaken when he referred to him as a 'boy'.

The blonde farmer only caught a glimpse of the Holmes son's arm out of the window, but he could see that it was no arm of any boy.

"I ain't comin' 'n' that's final!" The son, Sherlock, shouted out to his Mother and she huffed loudly. John was beyond shocked at hearing Sherlock Holme's accent. It was not like his Mother's in the slightest. In fact, it was exactly the same as everyone else in Bakersdale County.

"Good gracious me, stop talking like that! You may have been brought up here, but you are an Englishman, Sherlock Holmes!"

John blinked in confusion. Sherlock was brought up here?

"We moved to America quite a few years ago." A voice spoke beside him and John turned to see the elder of the two sons, Mycroft. Who _did_ have a British accent. "Luckily, I was of the age that meant picking up the behaviour of those around me wasn't something I did. However, Sherlock was of that age. He fell into the wrong crowds, as it were. Ended up speaking and behaving like the rest of Southern America, much to Mummy's distaste."

John was expecting an added comment of, 'No offense.' But none came.

"So he talks like us?" John asked, finally decided to close his gaping mouth. "What crowd did he fall into, exactly? If you don't mind me askin'."

"What are your connections to Jimmy Moriarty, or James as he's supposed to be known?" Mycroft tucked his hands into his pockets and raised his chin as he quesitoned the short farmer.

"Loose." John began, "I have very little to do with that man anymore. Not since he took away my Maisie's pups an' sold 'em all."

Mycroft ran his tongue over his teeth inside a closed mouth.

"He's a nasty piece of work, that man. I can't blame Sherlock for keeping himself inside. If he fell _into_ the wrong crowd with Jimmy Moriarty, that means he must've fallen _out_ pretty hard." John mused. "Must've hurt."

Mycroft extended his neck as he gave the farmer an odd look. "Very well said, Mr Watson."

* * *

_Knock, knock, knock. _

"Johnny, will you answer that?" Suzie was busy at the kitchen table mending Harry's overalls, Harry'd torn them on Old Pepper's shed and her mother wasn't very happy about it. "Johnny!"

John didn't answer, niether did he appear.

Suzie huffed and dropped the overalls, quickly lunging towards the door and swinging it open.

There on the porch stood none other than Bertie Grubbtree. He was grinning knowingly and had his hands behind his back.

"Whatt'ya want, Bertie?" Suzie put her hands on her hips. "Johnny ain't here."

"It ain't Johnny I wanna speak to." Bertie grinned wider and shifted on his feet confidently. "It's Annie-Rosie."

Suzie frowned. What would a no-good critter like Bertie want with her Johnny's Annie-Rose? The lady in question was currently out back planting new window-boxes with yellow marigolds.

"On what business?" Suzie asked after a moment's silence.

"Personal." Bertie sneered and lifted a hand from behind his back to reveal a pair of lacey white panties.

Suzie gasped in shock and her chest clenched. No way would Annie-Rose do something like that, not to her Johnny!

"Wh-what're you showing me those for?" Suzie backed up slightly and Bertie stepped into the kitchen.

"Oh, I'm certain you already know that, Mrs Watson." Bertie smirked, still holding the panties at eye-level. "You know, I asked her right before we did anything. I asked her what colour they were. She's so honest, ain' she? She answered 'white' like a good little girl."

"There ain't no way you can prove that they're Annie's!" She pointed a shaky finger at them but her voice was stern and loud.

"Why don't we ask the little lady herself?" He sneered and his eyes suddenly snapped to the kitchen window that looked out onto the back of the house. Annie-Rose was gaping through it in complete shock and fear, she dropped the watering can she was holding and suddenly darted out of view. Bertie snickered.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was a strange man. He was the only member of the Holmes family that had picked up the local accent. He was the only member of the Holmes family that didn't seem interested in the Linnard story in the slightest. He was the only member of the Holmes family that John Watson was still yet to meet.

And John found this somewhat annoying. Everyone knew everyone in Bakersdale County. John could tell you who lived in every single house on every street. He could separate the good folk from the nutty, tell you which neighbourhoods to avoid. He could even tell you which criminals Officer Lestrade hated most.

So Sherlock Holmes had already begun to cause a stir, even within the first few days of the Holmes' moving in. Because everyone knew everyone, except Sherlock Holmes.

John had visited the Holmes' several times since them moving in, hoping to catch first glimpse of the mysterious man that nobody knew. Some folk had begun to believe that he didn't even exist, rightly so when they'd never so much as heard his voice. But John had. John had heard his voice and seen the man.

John knew he was real.

* * *

"Okay, explain this to me, Missy." Suzie Watson sat Annie-Rose down and pushed the white undergarment across the kitchen table towards her.

Annie-Rose took them with a trembling hand.

"Ain't no reason to be scared, Annie. He's a big boy and he can decide the outcome of this by himself. I just want an explanation." Suzie was being stern but not harsh and Annie-Rose felt compelled to relax a little.

"I didn't want him to break his promise first." Annie managed and then burst into uncontrollable tears.

"Break his promise? Whatever do you mean, girl?" Suzie was utterly confused. "I asked for an explanation, not a sentence. Carry on." She waved a hand in beckon.

"We made...that promise...t-to each other." Annie choked out. "I could t-tell he was close to b-breaking it first. And I didn't want him to have t-to go through..." She trailed off and more tears fled down her flushed cheeks.

Suzie sighed and sat back in her chair. Clearly this was getting her nowhere.

* * *

The sun was a burning glow of amber across the orchard, setting the edges of leaves alight with colour and casting peaceful shadows across the ground.

Annie-Rose and John sat leaning against one of the apple trees. Their hands were interlocked at the fingers and resting between them. They were sat in silence, but the silence was comfortable.

Annie sighed and rested her head against John's shoulder. He'd told her they'd come to watch the sun go down together one day, and here they were.

"You think we'll stay like this forever, Johnny?" Annie asked into the silence, the gentle shushing of tree-leaves surrounded her words.

"No." Was John's simple reply.

Annie-Rose felt her heart clench painfully. "No?"

"We'd need to eat at some point, and sleep. We could never stay here forever, Annie." He looked down at her with a playful smile and she giggled.

"You know what I meant, John."

John paused in thought. The sun had almost disappeared and they were now sitting in the calm glow of dusk.

"I tell you what. We can make a promise." John shifted so he could look at Annie properly. She sat up and turned to him.

"A promise of what?"

"A promise that we will always love each other, and no one else." John explained.

Annie-Rose laughed.

"It's a bit sappy, I know. But I mean it."

Annie collected herself again and nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I promise, John Watson." She smiled and giggled again.

"I promise too, Annie-Rose Atwood." He replied.

They shared their first kiss just as the sun completely fell, shrouding them in darkness.

* * *

"Ah, Mr Watson. A pleasure to see you once again." Mycroft Holmes let the small man into the house and John gulped. He'd been here plenty of times before, but the thought of Rachel's spirit still hung around his neck like a noose. "Mummy informs me there are bushes that need tending to and the apple tree in the far back corner needs spraying with pesticide. Other than that, it's just the usual trim and cut situation." Mycroft explained as John shifted the heavy toolbag on his shoulder.

"Sure. Thank you, Mr Holmes. I'll get right on it." John started to walk through the kitchen to the back door when Mycroft's voice halted his actions.

"Answer me a question, Mr Watson." The Englishman grabbed an umbrella from the stand beside the front door and made his way over to the farmer. "You're a busy man, with a whole farm to take care of. Just three women to help out. But your Mother rarely tends to the animals, other than your dog. Annie-Rose Atwood is often out running errands. And Harriet only really works in mechanics and crops." He dropped his chin to send a questioning stare into John's wide eyes. "How on earth do you find time to come here and tend to our garden so often?"

"Well I-"

"I mean, it's not that I find it a nuisance. Rather the opposite. I'm just curious, is all." He flashed a brief smile John's way, before spinning the umbrella in his grip and hoisting it up onto his shoulder.

"It's really no problem, Sir. I don't mind finding the time. We really only have chickens and cows so I can easily sort 'em out once I'm done here." John nodded. "Besides, I could, err, do with the extra..." He trailed off, hoping the elder Holmes son would catch his drift. Or at least the drift he was intending for him and not the reality that the farmer had become suddenly obsessed with the Englishman's younger brother.

"I see. Well, so long as you continue to do such an excellent job, and you don't allow it to mean your farm spirals into disarray, you may continue." He stepped out of John's way and the farmer nodded appreciatively before continuing towards the back door.

"Oh, and I feel it my place to inform you. Sherlock has requested that you make sure his bedroom window is shut before you begin mowing. The noise gets to him." Mycroft smirked as John's demeanour faltered at the mention of his younger brother's name.

"Oh...o-of course. Sure." He cleared his throat. "I'll do that."

Once the farmer had completely disappeared, Mycroft smiled to himself. It seemed extra cash was not the only reason for Mr Watson's visits.

* * *

John never really noticed exactly _when _he had become so obsessed with Sherlock Holmes. He hadn't even met the man but he was already planning what he was going to say to him on their first meeting.

The thing was that a man like Sherlock Holmes, John imagined, was that if he was anything like his elder brother, would be sharp-minded and quick to judge. Therefore, having been the only member of Bakersdale County to actually have proof that the man existed, John wanted to make sure their first meeting went smoothly.

"Johnny? You haven't eaten your potatoes. Do you not like 'em?" Annie-Rose gently brought John back to the present and pointed at his dinner plate.

"What? Oh, yeah. They're fine." John quickly stabbed at them and began eating.

Annie-Rose frowned but said nothing.

* * *

"John? Johnny!" Annie-Rose came running into the kitchen at Bakersdale Farm, her hair and dress sopping wet, to find Suzie anxiously stacking pots and pans all over the place.

"God damn this rain! God damn this darn roof!" She muttered loudly and cursed when she nearly tripped over a pot on the floor behind her. The sound of water droplets hitting metal surrounded them both and Annie frowned.

"Where's John?" She asked his Mother.

"Take a wild guess where my goddamned son's run off to this time!" Suzie ran her hands through her hair and sighed. "Up at Linnard House again! I swear to God if he spent as much time helping out here as he did there, we'd be the best farm this County's ever seen!"

Annie-Rose thought it best to leave Mrs Watson alone for the time being. Instead she grabbed her umbrella from the stand by the kitchen door and rushed back out into the rain. As she rushed through mud and puddles, her wet hair slapping her in the face and eyes, she couldn't help but agree with her lover's Mother. Ever since the Holmes had moved in just under a month ago, John seemed to have been obsessed with visiting to help out in some way or another. Mostly it seemed he did their gardening, but Annie-Rose still wondered why he chose their place over his own. She always thought he was utterly devoted to his farm and his work.

Her shoe suddenly slipped off her foot and she rushed back to find it stuck in sluggish mud. She growled and huffed, eventually managing to use the umbrella to prod and poke it free. She slipped it back on her foot again when Old Pepper whinnied from his shed and she turned around in realisation.

Trying desperately to shield her eyes from the rain that was now falling almost horizontally, she clumsily made her way over to Old Pepper's field and decided to discard her umbrella. The rain was heavy and each drop felt like a pellet of lead against her skin.

She raced inside, patted Old Pepper twice on the neck before using a wooden crate to hoist herself up and onto his back. He beat his foot against the ground appreciatively - no one had ridden Old Pepper in years - and whinnied again.

"Come on, boy." Annie kicked her legs against his sides and he bolted into a canter, straight out of the shed doors and into the field. And the rain. "Just try to ignore it, Peppy. Come on!"

Annie was determined to get to the Holmes place before Johnny had finished his work there. She needed to find out, if it was only a clue, just what was so attractive to have kept him there even in this blasted rain.

Old Pepper carried her obediently all the way up to and straight through the large white gates. The ground was soggy underfoot and Old Pepper clearly found it a struggle, but with encouraging words and gentle kicks, Annie managed to make it all the way to Linnard House. She slowed Old Pepper into a walk before hopping off his back and tying him up to a nearby post with a piece of rope that was already there.

Slowly and carefully, she rounded the large house until she could see into the large gardens at the back. Wiping the wet hair from her face, she quickly ducked down behind a bush when she caught a glimpse of someone out there. Peeking up over the top, her suspicions were confirmed. John was busy with his back to the house, bent over a rose bush. He seemed completely nonplussed by the rain that Annie-Rose was now having to wipe from dripping off the end of her nose.

Before Annie could even think about what she was going to do next, she saw one of the upstairs windows open slowly and an arm lean out. A deep voice shouted something incoherent to Annie over the rain, before the arm threw something onto the ground and then disappeared inside the window again. Whatever the person had said made John suddenly turn around and look. His eyes caught the item on the wet grass and he rushed over to grab it. After inspecting it for a few moments, John looked up at the window, craning his neck and trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was inside. It seemed he was unsuccessful when he sighed and looked down at the object again. Turning it over in his hands for a few seconds, whatever it was seemed to satisfy him and Annie watched him pocket it happily and turn back towards the rose bush.

She immediately knew why John was so keen on visiting this house every day. He was intrigued with whoever was inside that room. She just couldn't put together why.

* * *

Bertie Grubbtreee smirked amusedly as he leaned against his doorway.

"Well, well, well. If isn't Miss Annie-Rose Watson. What can I do you for?" He picked at a dirty nail and smirked when he heard her swallow.

"I've come to...settle something, Bertie." She tried to remain strong and in control.

"Settle something, eh? Or perhaps...satisfy something?" He snickered. "Things with Farmer Johnny-Boy not going so well?" He chuckled and lifted her chin with two fingers. "You've come to the right place, little missy." He stepped aside to allow her in but suddenly blocked her path as she did so, meaning they were less than an inch apart. His chapped lips pressed lightly against her ear and he whispered. "Just one question before-hand. I always ask this, think of it as my trade-mark."

"What question?" Annie managed, trying hard to remain sure of the real reason she was here. _For John. This is all for John._

"What colour are you wearing?" He hissed and snickered when she flinched.

Annie-Rose paused, wondering why he was asking. "White." She answered eventually.

Bertie chuckled into the shell of her ear. "Such an innocent colour."

* * *

A pocket-watch. An old-fashioned, English pocket-watch.

John smiled fondly at it. Knowing exactly what it meant and why he had it.

"Johnny? Are you even listening to me?" Suzie tore John from his daze and he looked up.

"Sorry, Mamma. I just remembered I gotta be somewhere. I'll be back in time for dinner." He flashed her a smile before darting out of the kitchen doorway.

Suzie sighed and shook her head, knowing exactly where her son was headed.

* * *

_'Perhaps this'll teach you to keep track o' time easier! You should be long gone by now!" _

John recalled the words he'd been shouted. It was the first thing Sherlock Holmes had ever said to him. He found it only made him want to meet the man all the more. Even though he'd never seen his face.

Admittedly, John had stayed at Linnard House well past the time he was supposed to. Pretending to tend to a rose bush. Obviously, Sherlock Holmes had found it amusing how he always stayed longer than he should, so decided to give him a means of keeping the time. Or rather, throw a watch at him. Brash, but to the point.

John couldn't help but admire the gesture, even though to Sherlock Holmes it probably meant very little.

He arrived at Linnard House and knocked on the door. He was surprised when the maid, Miss Hooper, opening it instead of Mycroft.

"Good morning, Mr Watson." She dipped her head and allowed him inside.

"Morning, Miss Hooper."

* * *

Annie-Rose Atwood was sick with guilt. But at the same time, she felt accomplished.

After all, she'd done what she'd done to spare John the pain of doing it first. It was clear to her, like chalk on a blackboard, that John was clearly spellbound by whatever was in that room at Linnard House. At first, her imagination had convinced her it was the spirit of Rachel Linnard come back to take revenge on Annie-Rose for becoming involved with Bertie. But since then, she'd come to learn that no matter what it was, spirit or real person, it had captivated John more than she ever could. Meaning he had broken his promise to her.

So, because she truly did love him. She decided to spare him the pain of having to explain it to her and instead, broke her promise too. Except, in a way that needed no explanation. Yes, she knew it would ultimately hurt John. Yes, she knew it wasn't a ladylike thing to do.

But she did it anyway. After all, John would have the person in the room. She could run away and avoid the Grubbtree Guilt. Everything would be ok in the end.

And hell, it wouldn't take much for John to forget about her. He practically already had.

* * *

"Annie! No, Annie wait! Where're you going?" John cried out as Annie-Rose's dress flapped behind her as she ran. Egg-yolk yellow matching the marigolds she'd planted just that morning.

He tried his best to race after her, but his leg hurt too much and he found himself slumped against the barn. Darn it! If only he hadn't gone and provoked Harriet like that, she wouldn't have hit him with the shovel. And he'd be able to run after Annie-Rose.

"I ain't gonna ever make the mistake of fallin' in love." A voice spoke from behind him and John turned to find a dark-haired stranger leaning against the side of the barn. He was chewing on a toothpick but wearing suit trousers and a formal shirt with the top button undone and the collar loose. "It's a distraction, ain't worth it. S'only ever gonna end in pain."

John blinked. He recognised that voice.

"Are you-?"

"Look." The stranger nodded into the distance and John turned to see what he was looking at. Annie-Rose had reached the edge of the market at he far end of the street. Her hair ribbon fell out and fluttered to the ground.

"Now, we both know what could happen now." The stranger continued. "There are two things you could do."

John's eyes stayed fixed on the ribbon as he got trodden into the dirt path by a passer by. He nodded.

"And we both know you know who I am. Which makes this decision-making all the more interestin'." The stranger took the toothpick out of his mouth and flicked it to the ground.

"You're...him." John managed, still not turning to look at the not-so-stranger.

"And you're John Watson. Recently injured by a shovel, recently left by his girl, recently acquainted with me. But that last one's _real_ recent." Sherlock Holmes leant against the corner of the barn, his arm propped above his head. He stooped over the smaller man and John gulped when he finally turned back to look at him.

Whatever image he'd made up in his head of what the mysterious Sherlock Holmes looked like, it was entirely inaccurate. No one could ever make up this. His eyes were pale but managed to hold a darkness to them that gave them gravity. His dark curls contrasted with marble skin stretched over sharp cheekbones like silk over stone. John gulped again.

"You got exactly four minutes left to make up your mind." Sherlock whispered. "I mean, you should already know that. Right?" He nodded at the bulge in John's overalls pocket, knowing exactly what it was. "I don't just give my possessions to just any folk."

"Why me?" John asked, still in sublime awe of this _creature _that was trespassing his farm.

Sherlock Holmes leaned closer to the farmer, his lips brushing his ear, and whispered, "'Cause you're the one with the decision to make."

"Decision?" John was utterly confused. But Sherlock gave him no more help.

"Yes, John. Decision." Was all he said before straightening again and looking the farmer dead in the eye. "Ribbon or Pocket-Watch?"


End file.
